


Take Care of Me

by kumogumo



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cuddles, Episode 9, Fluff, Hugs, Kisses, M/M, clingy boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kumogumo/pseuds/kumogumo
Summary: Yuuri kind and bright is braver than him again.





	

He’s pacing too much he knows. He walks to the black board with flashing words for the fifth time and stares. ON TIME, it still reads. Makkachin trots excitedly after him and he can feel eyes on him. He supposes it’s rather a strange image; a large brown poodle ambling after a silver-haired man who can’t seem to sit still. He can’t help it though. Not since he saw the broadcast. Yuuri had over-rotated on one, touched down on the other but he had pushed through; doubtless he would. Victor saw his grimaces, saw anxiety desperately suppressed but the most precious thing Yuuri gave, he had felt it resound within. Yuuri’s love on the ice is laid bare for the world to see but Victor never mistakes who it is for. He had swelled with pride but here- this- miles too far for him to run, stuck behind barriers he cannot cross over. It was destroying him.

Since his very first Eros, Yuuri had been bright and strong and demanding on the ice. A constant striking reflection in Victor’s eyes, an overwhelming presence and Victor thrived on it, adored it with all his being. But it made his own heart feel too small and too-

_Inadequate_. He had feared. A spreading, gnawing black blotch since he started haphazardly stuffing his luggage, since he walked out of the lobby that night. Yuuri had been nothing but considerate, had worried for him, reassured him and he had good intentions, necessary intentions. And so did Victor - Makkachin was irreplaceably dear to him. But he had left. Left Yuuri standing alone in the lobby to his retreating back, left him to an ice rink with full of strangers, left a promise made at beginning he still means every word of and oh god he had just _left._

He had reached the airport too early. Barely washed up since he had brought Makkachin back from the vet, the stress from the news of her possible death was finally wearing off seeing her flounce around. He had thrown on just enough for the cold and his hair was remarkably unbrushed. Yakov had texted him earlier. Words clipped, criticism unforgiving ( _distracted…sloppy…_ ) and naggy as usual; but Yakov is not a man to waste time or talk on something he could care less about and to do that even when Victor is certain Yakov knows he would have watched the program to every last second himself, he is grateful. He saw the kiss and cry of course and the constipated look on Yakov’s face in Yuuri’s crushing hug, torn between bursting a vein and sheer embarrassment, is a sight he will remember for years.

Yurio had texted him too, with an attached picture of pirozhki in a brown paper bag and the words ‘Katsudon’ in Russian underneath. He’s sure it’s pirozhki, he’s seen it all his life. A typo perhaps or that he was a really confused boy.

These barely manage to assuage his nerves enough for him to collapse on a nearby bench in front of the glass panels. But the blotch is still there, contained but still smothering. And his hands are rubbing each other nervously, legs faintly trembling against the cold plastic chair with the need to _do something_ – find him, see him, be with him but time is not nearly moving fast enough.

And when he does see him, all wide eyes and surprise, he’s running and breathless and doesn’t look back. The airport is empty and silent and all he can hear his blood pounding in his ears. Yuuri is looking straight at him; surprise has melted into a longing Victor is sure matches his own. He’s running towards him and the warmth that hits him when he opens his arms finally lets him breathe again- safe, home, back where they belong. Words are spilling from his lips faster than thought and he wants to say so many things. _You did well, I’m proud of you, I’m sorry._ What he tells him instead, murmurs low and gentle into soft black hair, is unexpected but still all the truth.

“Yuuri, I’ve been thinking about what I can do for you as your coach from now on.”

_I don’t want to leave again._

Yuuri pushes him off and in those few seconds, he is a man afraid of everything. Cold weight sinks his stomach and his throat strangles like knotted thread pulled on both ends. His hands are lost with the need to hold on – _no, don’t let go –_ he has to tell him, but his body is completely failing him for the first time – _don’t let me go –_

But Yuuri kind and bright is braver than him again.

“Until I retire, please take care of me!”

It’s both the uncertainty of a questioning plea and the courage of a declaration. He locks onto eyes that are like the small flame of a candle; faintly flickering but warm and burning with the sureness of the sun which thaws his fears and steals his breath. He stares a little longer, too close, and it’s blinding. Relief crashes into him in waves and he is a helpless shell on the beach to its ravages. He wants to laugh, wants to cry and it’s all too much. Retirement? Silly boy, it’s not enough. “It’s like a proposal,” he chokes out and kisses with a little teasing and a lot more wanting. It will never be enough. And Victor tries to tells him just that.

“I wish you’d never retire.” There’s a small smile in his voice but he hopes fervently, desperately like the confession of a mute man at the altar that Yuuri understands. He has one hand closed over the curve of Yuuri’s neck, his skin cool from the airport cold slowly warming into the heat of his palm. One arm reaching around his shoulders to grip at his back, fingers pressing firm and heart pulling even more. There is a growing wetness at his sleeve and all he can do is gently press Yuuri’s head into his aching chest.

_Ah you really are a terrible man Victor,_ he thinks. _You’ve made Yuuri cry again._

But he knows Yuuri will indulge him this time again and if anything, the unrelenting grasp on his back tells him he already has. For his inadequacies, for the right words he can never say at the right time, for the way he bares himself so poorly to a man who skates to cuts and bruises for him. He wants so much to be better.

They hold on for a long time until Yuuri whispers softly into his coat. “Victor, let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Victor waits in the corridor outside his bedroom door. He treads a few feet left carefully, staring at the closed door to Yuuri’s bedroom and then walks back to his; he stops and starts again and after a few rounds, Makkachin whimpers softly at his feet. He pats her on her head three times softly to tell her he’s fine but she stares at him with unblinking, distrusting eyes. He thinks he’s been telling her too much.

“Victor? What are you doing out here?” Yuuri calls out as he slides the wooden door shut behind him from the other end corridor’s entrance. He walks closer to stand in front of Victor, floorboards creaking weakly with the soft pads of his footsteps and he stops in front of the sleepy poodle to stroke her again and again. He knows Yuuri has missed her too. Even in the dim yellow of the light, he can still see the wet tips of his black hair from his bath, stray droplets running down the side of his cheeks. He wants to thumb it away.

“Ah Yuuri, it’s nothing,” he laughs, “I just- I wanted- I mean I-”

He must look like a fish out of water now – mouth open with nothing but air and seconds from hyperventilation. He stops and heaves a sigh; the eloquence of a duck would not do him any good now. So he abandons speech, steps in toe to toe, watching large brown eyes grow wider. He reaches out to gently clasp his hand round a pliant hand. His thumb is in Yuuri’s palm caressing in tiny strokes and he can feel callouses he wants to kiss. They are a testament to sweat and tears poured over ice which he wants to reward and worship. He slides fingers over the back of his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t look away from eyes that kindle the depths of his soul either. They aren’t usually like that; after all, for every day of the past eight months their lives have been so inextricably intertwined, changed forever. But Victor feels bare today, emotions still rubbing raw and fresh.

Yuuri looks down at their hands and flushes a dark pink. He sucks his lips in between his teeth and Victor counts the ridiculously loud thuds of his heart against ribs. One, two, three, four. Yuuri turns his palm to meet his, sliding fingers between his to close over knuckles and he follows on instinct,  pressing the still slightly damp skin on back of Yuuri’s hand to push their palms closer.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” He asks.  

Yuuri nods.

“Please.”

“Okay,” he breathes, heart floating, “I’m so happy.”

He takes him by their clasped hands to Yuuri’s room, Makkachin dutifully following, and they stand at the bedside for a while, Victor smiling and cheekbones popping. It feels like he hasn’t done that in days. Yuuri grins back shyly and Victor decides he can be a little shameless now so he turns and crawls into the freshly made sheets. He stays at the end near the wall and lies on his side, elbow on the mattress propping his head up. He pats the space in front of him. “Come here Yuuri.”

Yuuri huffs but crawls in anyway. He lies down facing Victor at first but as his body sinks into the bed he flops onto his back and lets out a small groan.

“Bad flight?” Victor asks, chuckling as he reaches over to gently massage at Yuuri’s upper arm.

“Yes.” Yuuri answers flatly.

“Mmm, next time, we’ll fly business.”

Yuuri flicks his hand lying between them and swats his stomach. It makes him laugh but he doesn’t stop kneading at tense muscle, moving higher past Yuuri’s shoulder to his neck. Yuuri lets out a little sigh, content, and it reverberates in his ears. He does this until he sees Yuuri’s eyelids start to flutter languidly and he pulls the covers up higher over their shoulders.

“Turn this way?” He asks.

Yuuri grunts drowsily and rolls over to lie on his side. He is still for a few minutes and Victor thinks he must have fallen asleep but then he wiggles closer, head almost falling off the pillow. Victor straightens out his arm and slides it under his neck.

“Yurio made me katsudon,” Yuuri mumbles. “Pirozhki katusdon.” Ah, so, neither a typo and nor a confused teen. There’s a small smile on Yuuri’s face chasing after his words which reaches his closed eyes and Victor reminds himself to send a text to Yurio to say a thank you (and well done because the little grumpy kitten had blossomed so wonderfully as he knew he would). He imagines he’d a get an angry reply like _‘wasn’t doing it for you!’_ with too many exclamation marks. Victor decides he’ll send a kissy smiley too.  

“Vkusno?”

“Very. I ate all six of them in one go.”

“I’ll do something about that in the morning.” He says playfully. “But sleep for now.”

As he settles in, arms winding around Yuuri to rest his hand at the back of his head, he presses lips to the soft black strands on the top of his head and thinks that this must be how it feels to hold something so dear.

It won’t be easy when morning comes, Victor knows that all too well. But for now, he is content to lie close and carry with them soothing touches into sleep, sharing warmth and dreams.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hands up if episode 9 wrecked you beyond repair too. 
> 
> I don't usually write fanfics but this show hit me with feels like a freight train and have kept me up far too late for far too many nights. This is my coping mechanism. Hope you enjoyed it!


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